


The Maddening Crowds

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's having nightmares and he'll do whatever it takes to make them stop.  Written for the 2013 MFU Halloween Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maddening Crowds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Open_Channel_D](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Open_Channel_D).



 

It always started the same.  He didn’t know how or why, but he knew Napoleon was injured and Illya had to get through the crowd.    However, they weren’t having any of it.  He didn’t know why, but they attacked him.  And worse, he didn’t know why they all looked like him.  It was as if he was being attack by himself over and over again.

The clutching hands grabbed and tore at his clothes and then his body when fabric was ripped away.  He would arrive at Napoleon’s side too late and Illya would collapse beside him, bleeding and devoid of a will to live.  He would lie down to die and Napoleon would never ever know how Illya really felt about him.  A great emptiness would swell in his chest and Illya would come awake with a cry.

This time was no different.  Illya awoke, sitting up in bed.  The bedclothes were tangled around him, his pajamas were dripping with sweat and his body felt twisted and wrenched.

He peeled off his pajamas and shivered in the sudden coolness of his bedroom.  Staring up at the ceiling, he rubbed his eyes and wondered when he would get a good night’s sleep again.

 

                                                                                ****

 

Illya propped his head up and stared at the file on his desk.  He sat back in surprise as a cup of coffee appeared before him.

“Looks like you could use this.”  Nicole Brinkman was a petite firecracker that Napoleon and Illya shared as a secretary.  “Hope I’m not over-stepping my bounds here, but you look like heck… sir.”

Illya coaxed out a smile.  “You are a godsend, Miss Brinkman.  Thank you.  As for the other, I know.  It’s just—“

The door slid open and Napoleon stepped in, still talking to a fellow agent.  “I gotta tell you, Al, her legs went on for an eternity and at the top – Paradise.” Napoleon laughed and then sobered at the sight of the secretary.  “Good morning, Miss Brinkman.”

“Mr. Solo.”  Her tone was icy, telling him just what she thought of his assessment of his date the night before.  She sailed past him, her chin up and her heels clicking an angry staccato in her wake.

“What is bothering her?”

“Perhaps your boorish comment, your Neanderthal approach to dating or perhaps she just doesn’t like your tie today.”

Napoleon looked down, momentarily concerned.  “What’s wrong with my tie?”

“It’s so tight it has blocked blood flow to your brain.”

“And what’s gotten up your nose?”  Napoleon stopped.  “You look like hell, Illya.  Are you coming down with something?”

 _A bad case of partner flu_ , Illya thought.  “No, I’m fine.”  He drained the coffee, ignoring both the temperature and the bitterness of the liquid.

“You don’t look fine.  In fact, you look like you need to pay a visit to Medical.”

“You know what, you are absolutely right.”  Illya stood and walked out before Napoleon could say another word.  Illya didn’t intend on going there, but he had to move, to get out of the room before he fumbled and said something wrong.  He started to walk, not paying much attention to the path he was taking.

“Mr. Kuryakin, how nice to see you upright and not on a stretcher.”   For the second time this morning, Illya was startled by a voice.  This one belonged to Dr. Carlos Ramira, one of UNCLE’s on-site psychologists.  He took one look at the agent, grabbed his elbow and steered him into a room and shut the door.  “Talk to me.  You look like--”

“I know.  I’ve been told several times already.  “I’ve been having trouble sleeping… nightmares.”  Illya flopped into a chair.  It was too hard to stay upright for long.

The doctor nodded.  This was a common complaint among agents.  They saw and experienced so much during the course of an assignment that nightmares and sleeplessness went hand-in-hand.  “When did they start?”

“Off and on about a month ago, but now it’s nearly every night.”

“And you can’t sleep because of it?”

“I can sleep, it’s just the minute I do – bang!  I wake up and go back to sleep only to have it happen again.”  The room was cool and dark and the chair comfortable.  The doctor pulled a cloth from his drawer and stood up.  Going to a small sink, he soaked it and then wrung it out.

Illya watched him approach.  “I’m going to put this over your eyes, Illya.”

“Why?”

“I want you to focus on the cloth and tell me about the dreams.”

After a moment, Illya tipped his head back and permitted the placement of the cloth.  Without either man seeing, a second door opened.

“It’s always the same.  I have to get to Napoleon, but there is a crowd of people holding me back.  By the time I fight through them, it’s too late.  He dies in my arms.  No matter what I do, I can’t save him.” 

“Have you two been at odds?”

“You mean more so than usual?”  Illya didn’t mean to make the comment sound as harsh as it did and he covered the cloth with his hand.  “It’s not Napoleon’s fault.  He’s just easily… distracted.”

“Still hasn’t seen the downfall of his womanizing ways?”

“No.  In fact, he seems to be on an upswing as of late.”

“And that bothers you?”

“What Napoleon does in his own time is his own affair.”

“You sound as if you are trying to convince yourself.  The hostility by which you have assigned to this aspect of your partner is, no doubt, lending itself to your dreams.”

“I’m trying to rescue him.”

“Illya, I want you to think back very hard.  Are there men or women obstructing you?”

Illya frowned and then flinched, almost feeling the gouging of the nails.  “Women, mostly, but...”

“But what?”

“They all look like me?”

“I think that’s your subconscious telling you that you are fighting yourself.  Don’t you think it’s time to tell Napoleon how you feel about him?”  The doctor laughed at Illya’s gaped mouth.  “You did take the tests, Illya.  Try as you might to manipulate the results, the truth is there.”

“And Mr. Waverly…?”

“He knows that to ignore the truth is dangerous.  You are a good agent and you aren’t as alone as you think.  Did you ever stop to ask yourself why Napoleon dates the way he does?”

“I assumed because he had an over-active sex drive and a fear of commitment.”

“Or perhaps he’s doing the best he can.”  The doctor went to a cabinet and took out a large bottle.  He counted out five pills and put them into a small envelope.  “If you still can’t sleep, try one of these, but my advice would be to talk to your partner.”

“What if he doesn’t want to hear what I have to say?”

“What if he’s already heard?”

Illya sat up with a jerk, the washcloth fallen from his eyes as the doctor spun, his fists raised.  Napoleon was standing there, his face lined with concern. 

“How long?” Illya asked.

“You have no right,” Ramira snapped.  “This is private.”

“I would agree.  I just came down to see if you would talk to Illya and here he is.  Doctor, could you give us a minute?”

“That depends upon Illya.”

“It’s fine, Doctor.”

Illya stood and waited for the doctor to exit.  “So, now you know.”

“Actually I’ve known for a very long time, Illya.  I’ve very nearly worked myself into the floor waiting for you to come around.”

“Sure you have.  All those dates, all that wining and dining.”

“And it was just that, Illya.  I wined and I dined and then I left them on their doorsteps.  In the beginning, there was more, but after a while, I didn’t want them, any of them.”

“What did you want?”

“You.”

                                                                                *****

He heard Napoleon’s cries before anything else.  He raced in their directions and slammed to a stop at the thong of people before him.

With a grimace, he charged into the crowd, but this time it was different.  This time the hands weren’t tearing, they were propelling him, encouraging him on.

He broke free, his clothes rumpled but intact for the most part.

Napoleon was reclined on a couch, seemingly unbothered by his lack of clothes.

“It’s about time you got here.”

Illya looked back at the people, they had left and it was just them, ”Yes, well, I was delayed.”

“I’m glad you are here.  See anything you like?”

Illya opened his eyes and swallowed.  He wasn’t alone in bed.  Napoleon’s body was a comfortable presence beside him.  Napoleon’s arm was draped over his waist and the man’s breath tickled Illya’s nape hair.

“You okay?” Napoleon murmured.  “Sleep all right?”

Illya pressed back, smiling at the poke in the small of his back.  “Never better.  It would seem that you are my favorite sleeping pill.”

“Excellent and you are just in time for your next dose.”

Illya chuckled. He had a feeling his nights were going to be just fine from here on out. 

 

 


End file.
